


30 Day OTP Challenge

by tunglo



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17846339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunglo/pseuds/tunglo
Summary: Various Garashir oneshots.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> #1. 'Getting Lost Somewhere'   
> Garak waits for Julian to come to Cardassia... [T; 750 words]

He did not linger over the arrival papers of each and every Federation aid worker.

He certainly did not waste the valuable resources of energy and time on thoughts of a single Starfleet doctor.

Because Bashir was a genius, it was true. He understood enough of duty, of sacrifice, to make him an asset worthy of the Cardassia Garak was determined to see rise from the ashes. But he wasn’t about to beg, and he certainly wasn’t going to hope.

If Bashir had better things to do, better places to be. Well.

What were years of lunches, and literature, and positively indecent levels of familiarity when weighed against the siren call of devoting his attentions to anyone who wasn’t him?

That wasn’t entirely fair, perhaps, for all that on Cardassia he could have sued the man for breach of promise. DS9 had been Terok Nor no more by the time the doctor set foot upon its fine Cardassian workmanship.

Julian could not know, did not see, and if Garak had entertained ridiculous notions of friendship - of something more than - he had only himself to blame.

If he fell into bed exhausted, night after night, still plagued by visions of earnest hazel eyes and bewitchingly beautiful collarbones - it was nobody else’s business.

He had been careless, and he had been foolish, and it was only force of will that kept the plain and simple tailor’s smile on his face when _Commander_ Kira stood before him, straight backed and square shouldered, and told him in a tone that said he should already know of Julian’s unfortunate accident.

Of the blank stare and the ruined mind, so that in a moment his unending responsibility to his people and state was nothing compared to his need to be at Julian’s side.

Earth was cold when he arrived. Colder even than the viewing decks of a far flung Federation space station. Garak shivered in his layers, chilled through to the very bone, and gazed up at the moon ring in the night sky, the frost leaving him susceptible to fanciful notions of sharing such a picturesque view with Julian.

He would have voiced the truth on that point, had Julian asked. He would have taken the doctor’s hand in his own, so very weakened by the misery of exile, and fallen foul of a lifetime of Tain’s teachings to admit to things he had no right to speak of to anyone.

He had loved from afar, just the same, without Julian’s consent or his culture’s permission, and when one dreary corridor finally gave way to an equally drab cell of a room, it was all Garak could do not to reveal the truth of his heart to the Terran nurse who had accompanied him.

“My dear,” he tried, voice strained to his own ears. Noted the gauntness of the doctor’s cheeks and the strange fur on his chin that had yet to be removed by one of the attendants. “Julian.”

For a moment - one singlely painful moment - all was as it had once been. Julian smiled at him, wide and guileless, while Garak’s heart lurched in his chest, his outward facade unruffled and perfect.

“My name is Julian,” the man in front of him said, tone free of any deeper meaning, then returned to staring unseeingly out of the window, one hand clutching close a misshapen wad of stuffing and cloth that must have once worn the visage of some native animal.

Garak moved to stand behind him. Allowed himself to place a careful hand to Julian’s hair, fingers marvelling at its texture even as he corrected his thinking. Even as they drifted to the elegant column of the man’s neck. The captivating vulnerability of his pulse point.

This wasn’t Julian.

It wasn’t the man who had risked life and limb for what he believed in. The man who had been saviour, and challenger, and occasionally even confidante.

This wasn’t Jules either, the innocent given up in sacrifice for the greater good.

Both of them were gone, lost and alone and unable to ask for the help that they needed.

It was still cold when he stepped back out into the waterlogged Terran air.

So cold his breath misted before him and his grip tightened instinctively on a cherished child’s plaything.

Julian wouldn’t be cold anymore.

In that, at least, he could take comfort.


	2. Pet Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #2. 'Pet Names'  
> Fluffy fluffiness. [G; 800 words]

Miles was the one to draw attention to it, and Julian couldn’t say that he hadn’t been asking for it.

He had been prodding, and wheedling, and all too obviously gleeful at the faint horror Miles couldn’t keep from his face every time the spokeswoman for the Bularian delegation put in an appearance. It wasn’t the horns, nor the tentacles, but the casual mention of how well Miles would fit into her personal harem that really sealed the deal on that score.

Because when Miles had stuttered through a suitably cautious rejection, given the armed guards flanked either side of her, she turned her attention to him with a wandering tentacle.

“You could be trained,” she told him, tongue running over sharp teeth as though considering, and as payment for his earlier crimes Miles simply stood by and grinned at him.

Grinned wider still as the charm he practised so hard in the holosuites deserted him, his foot pressing ever more firmly into his mouth as he lurched from one unintentionally offensive apology to another.

“What my friend here is trying to say,” Miles broke in finally, taking pity, “is that his Cardassian lunch partner won’t be at all happy if his _dear_ doctor doesn’t meet him in the next three minutes.”

The Bularians startled at that - Cardassia’s reputation always having preceded itself - before the tell was smoothed away, like it was never there, and the small group bid their good days, tentacles slithering and bangles jangling.

Garak listened politely all through Julian’s breathless telling of the story. Raised an eyebrow at the way he cut himself off, suddenly uncertain, when it came to recounting Miles’ stress on the endearment, then gave him the smile that made his palms go kind of clammy as he said smoothly,

“I have told you time and again about that uniform. If only you would allow me to make a few alterations, not even a Bularian Ka’al would dream of choosing O’Brien over you.”

That wasn’t what Julian had meant, hadn’t been at all his objection, and he launched into a passionate explanation while Garak sipped at his tea and went on as though he was blind to the outburst.

“I do hope you have had chance to finish through chapter 47 this week. I have been looking forward to hearing your opinion on Seltec’s sentimentality.”

Julian trailed on a few words longer. Frowned and backtracked straight into a frustrated speech about Seltec’s complete and utter lack of feeling, so worked up it took him a few moments to catch the fond expression playing about Garak’s lips.

A moment longer to realize he himself had fallen silent, all his considerable powers of analysis focused on the other man’s mouth, and the likely texture of the tongue it was housing.

“You seem distracted, my dear,” Garak said, nothing in his tone or his gaze to give Julian the slightest clue what he was really thinking, “I trust you’re not coming down with that Tellarite flu we’ve been hearing so much about.”

Only Garak could twist everything around so easily. Tilt his thoughts upside down, confused and incoherent, then slot his whole world back into place again with nothing more than the hint of a smile, or the briefest of touches to his shoulder.

“I’m not the one who keeps skipping their physicals,” Julian pointed out, pulse fluttering a little faster as a thousand new possibilities presented themselves, while Garak spoon fed him reasonable sounding lies about the life of a tailor in the approach of wedding season being far too hectic to make time for such trivialities.

“Yet here we are talking about Selec’s fall from grace,” was Julian’s parting shot, just as his commbadge chirped to let him know he was needed back at the infirmary.

Just as Garak gave him a look that made him need to swallow.

“Now that is different. I will always have time to make up the appalling deficiencies in your education.”

Julian grinned. Really really hoped that what he thought he was hearing wasn’t simple wishful thinking.

Hummed to himself through his afternoon appointments, and had to have stern words with his reflection in the mirror when he changed after shift, lest he go and give the entire game away.

Later, at Quark’s, Miles looked pleased with himself. Nudged him gently with one arm and asked him how his lunch had gone with his _dear_ friend Garak.

Garak was his dear friend. Maybe, in the not too distant future, Miles would have to get used to him being so much more.

“A gentleman,” was what Julian said with a wink, falling back on lines from his favourite holo-novels, “doesn’t kiss and tell.”

If Miles almost choked to death on his whiskey, he couldn't say he hadn’t been asking for it.


	3. Patching Each Other Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #3. 'Patching Each Other Up'  
> Garak attempts to repay his debts. [G; 700 words]

The memories of Julian’s bare hands upon his skin were his most cherished, for all that each represented something miserable - physical pain, and the excruciating shame of weakness.

Weakness for allowing the doctor to treat such minor cuts and abrasions, and weakness for replaying the sensations afterwards, his cold blood warmed by the heat of Julian’s too gentle touch.

His mind clouded by the longing he felt for a man so absurdly trusting it made Garak ache to put his own mark upon him.

To let the rest of the quadrant know Julian was off limits.

It would never happen, of course. He had no right, and Julian was too dear to him to consider pursuing the matter.

To risk losing the one spark of warmth in the cold loneliness of his exile.

Instead he forced his gaze from the sensuous lines of Julian’s neck. Kept ruthless control of the urge to press closer every time their bodies came into contact.

Bestowed tokens of his devotion under the guise of repaying his debts for medical services rendered, deflecting Julian’s protests in favor of dampening the sweet thrill of his inevitable acceptance with the reality of the situation.

The knowledge that there was nothing he could give Julian to adequately match what the younger man had gifted him with his friendship.

To make up for it he didn’t challenge the lie painted clear across Julian’s face in the wake of yet another unwelcome visitor to his quarters, and found himself powerless against a very un-Cardassian wish that he could patch over the emotional fractures as easily as the doctor’s dermal regenerator had fixed his bruised ridges and broken scales.

“It doesn’t matter,” Julian said with a brittle smile as he surveyed the damage, “I’m too old for such sentimentality.”

Garak recognized one of his own lines. Swallowed down the bitter swell of guilt even as Julian blinked back the salt of Terran tears.

Collected up the mangled scraps of fabric and tufts of stuffing while Julian hid behind the need to sort through data rods and right upturned furniture.

Later, alone in the chill of his own quarters - away from the prying eyes of the idlers on the Promenade - Garak poured all the words he hadn’t said into row after row of tiny stitches. The apologies he had never voiced, and the comfort he had never given.

The lust he would never vanquish, and the love that would forever threaten to take his breath away.

It took longer even than he had imagined. Left his fingers swollen and his eyes gritty with lack of sleep.

His latinum stocks depleted with the search for the perfect match to what little had been left of the only remnant Julian had of a life that had been taken from him.

All of it was worth it when the ever effervescent doctor fell speechless across their shared lunch table. When Julian’s expressive face formed a smile as brilliant as the Cardassian sun, the simple joy in his eyes enough to crack Garak’s facade of indifference.

“I couldn’t pass up the challenge, not now Denobulan embroidery is falling back out of fashion.”

It was a weak excuse.

A Cardassian would have shunned him for such transparency.

Julian stroked his elegant fingers over the restoration job he had done on Kukalaka.

Reached for him, without trepidation, and touched his hand like something straight out of his pitiful fantasies.

“Thank you, Garak,” he said, no attempt at hiding the raw emotion, and kept his hand where it was until his commbadge chirped to mark the end of their company.

Garak remained in his seat for long minutes afterward, until the warmth of the doctor’s sinfully soft flesh faded from his skin. Until he was certain he had his masks back in place.

Until he accepted that this had only increased the debt he owed the man.

He had given Julian back part of his past.

Julian had given him his only hope for the future.


	4. Hospital Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #4. 'Hospital Visits'  
> In which Garak has it bad and Cardassia is too bloody hot... [T; 1400 words]

Garak forced his pace to stay measured.

He engaged in the expected pleasantries with district officials, and dutifully admired the repair work that had already commenced around the hospital.

The place was still understaffed and overpopulated. Radiated none of the austere silence expected of places of healing before the Dominion and, as they approached pediatrics, it tore at something deep inside his chest to hear the sound of a child’s laughter.

“Tickle, yes? Not hurting,” someone said in heavily accented Kardassi, and it was all Garak could do not to cause a minor diplomatic incident by pulling the voice’s owner to his side and never ever letting them go again.

Because Bashir was here, on Cardassia, speaking the most charmingly butchered rendition of his mother tongue that Garak had ever been privileged to encounter.

Rather than the cursory acknowledgement he had expected, or the forgiveness he had dared to hope for, the doctor’s response to his letter was to travel halfway across the galaxy.

To turn down the comfortable - safe - research posts he was more than entitled to, and to say goodbye to the uncomplicated - honest - friendships with the people he would have been working with.

Instead they were under the same roof in a backwater province, surrounded by the rubble of war, with nothing but outdated equipment and inadequate rations to supplement the stubborn determination to see Cardassia rise from the ashes.

“I believe you are acquainted with the most recent addition to our medical compliment,” the administrator said, her speculative curiosity buried beneath form, and respect, and a real desire to move beyond past failings. “Doctor Bashir’s assistance is most welcome.”

On the Cardassia that once was such open gratitude to an outsider, a Starfleet officer no less, would have been unthinkable. Here, now, there was no question of obfuscation. It was intoxicating.

Infectious.

Julian beamed widely at him as they finally turned the corner, and Garak felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of the other man’s beloved features. The unruly curl of his dark hair, and the swirl of emotion in those big hazel eyes.

The hated Starfleet uniform, even, though this one was not quite so objectionable.

Was doing strange things to his heart rate, in spite of his best efforts, because gone was the ugly undershirt and unfortunate fit of the Federation tailored jumpsuit. In their place were expanses of soft brown skin. The barest hint of delicate collarbone and so much leg it took two attempts before Garak trusted his voice not to falter on him.

His treacherous gaze kept wandering. The scales on his hands itched to reach out and touch.

To determine if Julian’s unscaled flesh could really be as soft as he was imagining.

If the good doctor noticed, he didn’t comment on it.

Flopped gratefully into his shaded seat when Garak took him for lunch, and swiped his forearm across his forehead as he complained about how hot it was. How hot it always was, ever since the second he had stepped off the transport, and how glad he had been that he had thought to pack the skants he hadn’t worn since the Academy.

Had Garak known Julian was in possession of such garments on DS9, he wouldn’t have wasted time scheming to get into Odo’s encrypted security files. Not when he could have been using his skills on far more worthy endeavors.

He wasn’t the only one appreciating the view either, not if the flushed scales he spied from the corner of his eye were any indication. Julian looked delectable.

Scandalous.

Argued with him good naturedly about the literary merits of the simple retelling of The Never Ending Sacrifice on the shelved of the children’s play area back at the hospital, and failed to keep the disappointment off his lovely face when Garak told him he would have to return to the Capital before evening.

“There is a posting for a regional administrator,” he said nonchalantly when the final dregs of their glasses had been emptied, “it would mean relocating to the province.”

Julian saw straight through him.

Smiled, soft and sincere, as though to highlight the perfection of his flushed cheeks and water-wet lips.

“I didn’t come here for us to be strangers.”

\--

The words played in his head, over and over, as he turned his back on Tain’s teachings.

On years of training, and self-sacrifice, and the paranoid fear that twisted in his gut that this was all some ploy designed to break him.

But Julian didn’t sneer when he came to collect him for another lunch meeting. And though the nurses tittered around poorly concealed smiles, there was no judgement in their eyes. None of them questioned the unmistakable pride in his posture when Julian said simply - elongating the sss, but not reprehensibly so - that he was happy to see him.

Walked beside him in the manner typically reserved for courting couples, completely oblivious to the stares the action, and his bare legs, were attracting them.

Garak oughtn’t to let it continue, not the pretence and not Julian’s sartorial ignorance, but when it came down to it the words proved unforthcoming.

He was a coward, that was the plain truth of it, and when lunch was over he returned to the local government headquarters while Julian made his own way back to the hospital. He buried himself in paperwork, and processing, and silencing the snide little voice in his head that said it was Deep Space Nine all over again.

Wishing, and wanting, and play acting that Julian understood what he was doing, every time he bickered with him in public.

Every time he touched him in private, his elegant hands too gentle and too tender to have nothing more than medical efficiency guiding them.

It was those touches that kept him awake at night, rather than the unfamiliarity of his new state issued residence. The memories of Julian’s heat, and his scent, and the long legs he so badly wanted wrapped around him. So badly he everted helplessly into his own palm, his self control no match for years of longing.

His scales darkened with shame when they met the following day. Shame at his self indulgence, and shame at not matching the doctor’s bravery by confessing his joy at the man’s presence. How very much it would hurt should Julian decide that Cardassia, after all, was not where he wanted to be.

If Elim Garak, sometime spy, sometime tailor - a fool for this human, always - was not who he wanted to be with.

Fate, however, seemed determined to push the issue, because superhuman Julian might be, but he was still no match for the sharp claws of an inquisitive Cardassian toddler.

And Garak was no match at all for the intimacy of the little anteroom they found themselves in, Julian’s wince of pain transforming into something else entirely as Garak soothed cream along his calf in deference to the charge limitations of the hospital’s dermal regenerators.

His skin was so hot. So smooth. His scent was thick on his tongue too, clean and foreign and perfect, and it was only when Julian made a strange strangled noise that Garak realized his hand had wandered above the knee, pushing towards the hem of that thrice damned uniform.

“I don’t want lunch,” Julian managed, voice strained and a touch breathless, “I wish we were somewhere more private.”

The look on his face said it all. Cast light into the shadows of his fears, and lifted the heavy burden of uncertainty from his shoulders. Had Garak pressing closer, spellbound, and touching his tongue to the sinful curve of Julian’s neck, the way Julian wrapped his arms around his shoulders in response so maddening it took everything he had not to give in to delirium.

“If lunch is off the menu, perhaps you would care to join me for dinner. My residence is most conveniently situated, not far at all from the hospital.”

It was so transparent. Too much, too soon, and sure to end with Julian’s apologies.

“I thought you’d never ask,” was what Julian actually said, and held his palm up in proof of something Garak should have learned a long time ago.

It never did to underestimate the doctor.


	5. Scar Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #5. 'Scar Worship'  
> Smutty continuation of #4. [M; 800 words]

The rest of the day was torture.

Agony.

His skin burned everywhere Julian’s skin had touched it, and every breath he took was suffused with the scent memory of the man he loved almost more than Cardassia itself.

He willed the hours away faster and, then, as dusk began to lengthen the shadows beyond the windows of his residence he wished there was more time to prepare.

To ensure this encounter was perfect.

There were no Delavian chocolates to be had though, and there wasn’t enough power to run the air conditioning unit he had hoped would make Julian more comfortable. His rations had scarcely stretched to anything edible, not this late in the week, and now it was too late because Julian was at his door, still little more than half clad in that Starfleet uniform.

For a long moment they simply stared at each other, the rest of the world shut out behind his front door. Garak opened his mouth to speak, could scarcely draw breath for the taste of Julian’s scent on his tongue.

Just stood there, useless, while Julian took the lead. Turned their very first meeting on its head, gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips, then laid his hands upon his shoulders.

It was too much.

More than perfect.

Because Julian’s mouth was on his own, and Julian’s fingers were in his hair, stroking over the ridges of his neck, clutching desperately at his back as Garak’s own hands trailed up the impossible heat of Julian’s thighs, cupping his backside as Julian wound his legs around him.

Julian was sturdier than he looked. Stronger, too. Garak wanted nothing more than to worship him, regardless.

To press him into the soft sheets of his bed and lick the salt of sweat from his skin.

He didn’t have to deny himself. Peeled away Federation issue boots and underwear, and feathered his scaled fingers over Julian’s naked skin. Got rid of the last remaining barriers between his lips and Julian’s body, finally, and soaked up each and every sound Julian made, the throbbing ache between his legs stoked higher and higher.

It wouldn’t be long before he was too swollen to contain it. Before he had no choice but to work a hand beneath his tunic, just to relieve some of the pressure.

“You’re overdressed,” Julian panted, shivering as Garak kissed the scratch he was so thankful for. Reached for him, demanding, so that Garak couldn’t control his hiss of arousal, near tearing a fastening in his haste to carry out Julian’s bidding.

“My dear,” he managed, sibilant Kardassi in place of restrained Standard, and Julian went ahead and answered in kind, along with frantic sounds roughly approximating to ‘please’ and ‘now’ and ‘darling’.

He could hold back no longer. Gasped as sensitive flesh made contact with Julian’s leg, the alien heat as shocking as the way Julian moaned.

Wriggled and writhed until they were rocking together urgently, none of the finesse or the restraint Garak had planned to exhibit in this moment. Instead Julian was sucking at the engorged ridges of his neck, and he was confessing long held secrets.

Telling Julian that he was beautiful. Charming. So criminally desirable that it was a wonder anybody at the hospital got any work done, not with him parading about in a garment that wouldn’t look out of place on a dabo girl.

Julian nipped for that. Arched up into his movements, muscles straining, whining out his name as he spilled between them.

That was all it took. All it was ever going to take.

Garak plundered the doctor’s mouth to stifle his own cry, spilling and spilling until he shook with the intensity.

A gentle hand stroked through his hair in the aftermath, the warmth and the scent and the fact it was Julian almost more than he could handle.

“I took your advice, you know,” Julian said then in Standard, “you were always saying I’d look better out of the jumpsuit.”

“You would look lovely in a Ferengi bog suit.”

The truth tripped off his tongue as easily as a lie.

“But perhaps you would allow me to make some alterations to your wardrobe. Winter is coming.”

“Does that mean you want me to stay?” Julian asked, tone light but expression pinched with caution, Garak lifting his head though his instinct was to hide his face to make this easier.

He took Julian’s hand in his own, palms pressed close but fingers linked in the human custom.

He could do this. Not always. Perhaps not even often. But here, now, he could give Julian complete and total honesty.

“From the moment I first set eyes on you.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I last wrote these two way back in 2012 - [Fool [G; 1000 words]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/560469) \- but I have fallen in love with them all over again and need to get it out of my system. I don't know if I'll make it through all 30 prompts, or if any of them will even push past ficlet in length, but I'm going to collect them here all the same. :)


End file.
